Chapter 10
by jmsutherland
Summary: Patrick meets Blister's parents and begins to wonder if something is very wrong.


Page **12** of **12**

**Chapter X**

It wasn't as if he'd never met a girl's parents before. Patrick had known a lot of young women over the years; known them really quite well. He wasn't particularly handsome –well, he was now, but he didn't used to be- yet there was something about the rakish danger of an assassin, or perhaps all that black silk and velvet, or maybe just that _je ne sais quoi_ that comes with titled wealth… Whatever it was, a great many well brought-up young ladies had wanted him to persuade them to do the sort of things that well brought-up young ladies didn't do.

Of course he had obliged; it would have been ungentlemanly not to. And as he had generally met these girls at society balls, he had often been introduced to the mother and father of one of his persuadees; who never seemed to object to what he was obviously up to.

But that had been all about social position and being _polite_ in _Polite Society_. This was the first time he had ever been invited back to _meet_ someone's parents. And this time he was going to have to actually be polite.

He's asked Bliss what he should bring.

"Oh, bring wine," she'd said.

"Your parents drink wine!?" he'd asked, incredulously.

"Well, not yet."

"What about flowers for your mum?"

"For Om's sake, no! Unless you want to be thrown out of the house."

It turned out that Omnians loved flowers: planting them, growing them, tending them, pruning them…the idea of cutting them down in their prime to give to a woman so that she might watch their corpses rot for a few days struck them as bonkers; and they knew a lot about bonkers. He decided not to commit the atrocity of the blooms but instead to buy a couple of good bottles from Seemly's.

The Shivarananoms lived in the Egitto, or Omnian quarter, just the other side of Sticken Place from The Shades, as most Omnians did. As he walked down its streets he thought they were the neatest and cleanest he'd ever seen, admittedly he'd just come from The Shades, which can bias a man, but these streets stood up well against any of the posh ones around Hide Park. And they scored over those upmarket streets in two ways: they were overflowing with flower-pots and flower-baskets, but also children were playing in them.

Bliss's parents, and her younger sisters and brother, lived above their tailor's shop. When he rang the bell the door was opened almost immediately by Bliss herself, as though she'd been waiting behind it. She was wearing a pretty little dress and a little gauze veil, just to make an awkward evening even more difficult.

"Good afternoon, sir," she said, curtseying, "it is lovely to see you. Would you like to come up to the parlour?"

Patrick thought it was more than just lovely to see Bliss again as he followed her up the stairs. In the parlour stood two beautiful young people, presumably Bliss's brother and sister, and he wondered where her parents were.

"This is my father," Bliss began, "Destroy the Infidel's Arguments with Superior Logic."

"Good evening, sir," said Patrick –who didn't miss a beat- shaking his hand with a firm grip, that was reciprocated.

"And my mother, Confound the Heathen with Random Acts of Kindness."

"Enchanted to meet you, ma'am" he said, kissing her hand. Bliss's mum giggled.

Was this a setup? Was this some elaborate joke intended to either test him or just make him look foolish? There was no way these people could be old enough to have a child of Bliss's age –though now that he looked again, she seemed a lot younger than before- they barely looked old enough to have children at all. And then he looked again.

His assassin's training was useful in so many ways and one of the lessons was: observation may be the difference between life and death; look carefully. He could now see the tiny lines around their eyes and the edges of their mouths, but it was in the depths of the eyes that the tale was really told. These were people who'd had it hard, but were damned if they were going to admit it.

"I have brought a small gift," Patrick continued, holding out the bottles, "I trust that that's in order." He was almost embarrassed by his own formality, but this was a new experience for him.

"Ah, wine!" said Mr. Shivaranaom, "Blister has told us much about it, thank you." He moved his eyes in the direction of his wife and Patrick understood that he should offer them to her.

"Thank you, young man," she said, taking the bottles and flashing him a smile that made him see where Bliss got her looks, and her eyes.

"Now," said Bliss's dad, "while the women prepare the table, you and I shall get better acquainted."

Bliss and her mum duly departed with the wine to prepare the vegetarian meal, yeeeuch! Mr. Shivarananom laid a strong hand on his shoulder and guided him towards the window.

"I wondered if we might have a quiet word before dinner, ."

"Of course, sir."

"Oh, you may call me Destroy."

"And I am Patrick sir."

"Well, Patrick, it seems you want to have sex with my daughter."

This place, this small few inches of floor, this was where dumb was originally founded.

" ," was all that Patrick could manage.

"Well, you do, don't you?"

Another important lesson he'd learned at The Guild was: never give a straight answer to a straight question. On this occasion he decided: what the hells?

"Yes, sir."

"Good, can't have children without having sex."

"So I understand."

"You'll have to be married , of course."

"Of course," Patrick agreed, "would I have to convert to Omism?"

"I don't know. What are you now?"

"Eh, nothing."

"In that case I don't think so."

"Oh, good."

Now his prospective father-in-law became more serious and looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"A word of warning, Patrick," he said, gripping Patrick's arm hard, "if you should in any way mistreat Blister, Om will be avenged upon you."

"Destroy, trust me, if anyone should ever harm your daughter, Om will be the least of their problems."

"Excellent," he said, "let's have dinner."

For dinner they were joined by Bliss's younger brother Harangue and her two little sisters: Mortify and Disgrace. He was sort of getting used to Omnian names, but that didn't make them any less mad. All three of them looked very young which made him start to worry about just how old Bliss was. He'd assumed she was a bit younger than him, maybe twenty, but Harangue looked about ten and the girls were younger still. It would be a big gap and something he was going to have to ask Bliss about, and soon. Right after dinner in fact.

It was a dinner he wasn't looking forward to, but not because of the company. Patrick had eaten vegetables before, of course, and was actually partial to potatoes, peas and even carrots in the right place. And the right place was is a rich lamb stew, or sitting beside bacon and sausage or a thick juicy steak. Mostly, though, vegetables brought back memories of the amorphous, boiled slurry that he used to get slopped on to his plate at boarding school, to go with the boiled meat. A meal consisting solely of vegetables hardly bore thinking about, so what he got confused the hells out of him. Hell even the flies didn't seem to be interested; though that might have something to do with all the interestingly smelly candles that were burning in every room. Or was "scented" the word girls used?

Firstly, he couldn't identify most of it: aubergine, okra, artichoke…it was all new to him, but the tastes were astonishing and there were crunchy bits and spicy bits and creamy bits and… It was, quite simply, the most delicious meal he'd ever eaten, and he said so. It made Mrs Shivarananom laugh, that same lovely, light thing that Bliss had.

"Oh, Blister said you would flatter me."

"Honestly, Confound, I have never tasted anything better and I've eaten a lot of great meals."

"Why, thank you, young man," she said, laughing again.

And that was another incongruous thing: Patrick was twenty-three and he didn't think Mrs. Shivarananom looked that much older. Even Destroy only looked to be in his early thirties; certainly not old enough to have a daughter of Bliss's age, whatever that was. It was all terribly confusing and needed sorting out, right quick.

The wine had been a great success too; even the children had liked it. Patrick knew he should no longer be surprised that teetotallers thought nothing of giving alcohol to preteens. The Great Om certainly knew how to mess with people's heads. And then after dinner there had been coffee and a delightful little Omnian herbal drink called _chernobil_. Though it turned out actually to be made from a root, rather than a herb.

The coffee was superb: so thick he could have chewed it and served in the traditional Omnian fashion: black as night, sweet as honey and hot as hell. But that was as nothing beside the _digestif_. Destroy brought out two glasses only -clearly this was man's stuff- and began the ritual. First he poured a generous measure of _chernobil_ into each glass. Patrick smelt it immediately, and if there was no alcohol in that then he was a cave-painting. Next he took a spoonful of sugar, immersed it in the liquid and balanced it on the glass. When both glasses were ready, and while a kettle was boiling, he set fire to the sugar. After letting it burn for a few seconds he put out the flames by pouring a little boiling water over them; he then stirred the sugar into the mixture and handed one to Patrick. Patrick almost felt drunk on the ritual alone, but not as drunk as on the fumes. It didn't even smell like booze; it smelt like narcotic and it tasted that way too: sweet and bitter and intoxicating. It was little wonder it was hard to get Smite drunk if he was used to drinking this stuff.

"It is made from the roots in the Worm Wood," Destroy explained.

"Is it indeed?" said Patrick, making a mental note never to go there. He took a sip, and then soon discovered that his glass was empty. Destroy made to prepare another, but he politely refused.

"Actually, people seldom have a second," said Destroy.

"_Pas de merde!"_ thought Patrick. He could see immediately that there was no such thing as two glasses of _chernobil_; there was one, and then there was dead in a ditch.

The conversation had been wonderful all evening. Everyone had been animated and witty, even the children had been delightful company so perhaps that, combined with the _chernobil_ was what caused him to commit his _faux pas_.

"Have, you had any trouble around here, Mr. Shivarananom?"

"Trouble?" asked Destroy.

"You know, with Omniphobia."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," said Destroy, suddenly stiff.

"You, know, like what happened to our friend Smite…" Patrick glanced around the table; everyone looked stricken. He didn't know what he'd said but he knew he shouldn't have said it. His training kicked-in immediately.

"Oh, nothing," he said, dismissively, "I've having so much fun, but I fear it's getting late; perhaps I should walk your daughter home."

Everyone seemed to relax; there were even some nervous giggles.

"A fine idea," laughed Destroy, convivially, slapping him on the arm.

Everyone laughed along and began hurriedly clearing the table.

"Now, remember, ," Destroy went on, "Blister is under your protection, and you have my trust."

A lot of people had trusted Patrick in the past; Mr. Shivarananom was the first one who wasn't wrong to do so.

He had two questions, and he didn't know which he wanted answered more, but he knew which he wanted answered more urgently. Actually, he had three questions, but the one about why there were so many bloody flies about these days could wait. They had only been walking for two or three minutes when he turned to her and asked:

"Bliss, how old are you?"

"Ha ha, is that what you call me?"

"Well, it's nicer than Blister."

"Oh, I don't know, it seems a bit _girly_ to me."

"Bliss, you are the girliest girl I have ever met, and also the prettiest, I refuse to call you after a skin irritation."

"Why, thank you, kind sir," she said, combining a smile and a blush to great effect.

"So, how old _are_ you?"

"I'm eighteen." Phew! "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, it's just that Confound seems a bit young to be your mother and…"

"Oh, Confound is my second mum; my birth-mum died when I was little."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, I hardly remember her and Confound has been very kind to me."

"So the children are…?"

"My half-siblings."

Well, thankfully things were becoming much clearer.

"Just out of curiosity, how old _is_ Confound?"

"She's twenty-eight; Harangue is ten, Mortify is eight and Disgrace is six. And father is thirty-six."

"I think I see a pattern emerging."

"We believe that people should start to have children as soon as they're old enough: while they're still young, healthy and fertile."

The last part was clearly the nurse in her coming out, he thought.

"I just have one more question."

"I shall answer truthfully, as always."

"Why did everyone get upset when I talked about Smite?"

The smile of Bliss's face disappeared and her shoulders slumped.

"We don't like to talk about such things."

"Why not?"

"Please don't ask me that, Patrick, please," she pleaded, taking his hand. Her hand was small and soft and warm –his own was large and calloused; much coarsened from working in The Duck- he squeezed it gently.

"Ok, I won't ask again," he said, and was rewarded with a smile.

They walked the rest of the way holding hands and talking about inconsequential things. When they reached the entrance to the Nurses' Home Patrick made to kiss her hand, but instead Bliss lifted her veil raised her face and pouted. He kissed her gently on the lips and then suddenly she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back, with more passion than he'd ever been kissed before. When their mouths came apart he was amazed at how fast his heart was beating. Bliss looked at him with her big, beautiful, brown eyes; then she laughed, turned round and skipped away. Women! He thought. Can't imagine a world without them; can't understand a thing that's going on inside their heads. Especially an Omnian woman's head.

For Patrick, what Omnians thought about everything was pretty weird, but what they thought about sex was weird even for a religion. As with virtually all cultures on The Disc, and indeed all animal species, the guarantee of paternity was hugely important. And so the Book of Om insisted "that certain acts are purely unto thy spouse, on to the begetting of children and not before thy wedding night". As far as he could remember that was pretty much what they all said. The difference with the Omnians though, since the Reformation of Brutha, was that everything else was pretty much alright, with anyone, anytime. But that was a game he wasn't intending to play. Not this time.

It had been a very pleasant evening in so many ways, he thought, as he made his way back to The Duck, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to find out what secret these Omnians were keeping from him. He would keep his word and not ask Bliss about it again, or her family. But he hadn't said anything about not asking Smite.


End file.
